Jewels of Life
by Bathea
Summary: Lothiriel of Dol Amroth received many pieces of jewellery in her time. Yet she always held each piece in high esteem because of the people and stories behind it... (a collection of one-shots)
1. Silver Bangle

**Silver bangle**

The first piece of jewellery Lothiriel ever received was at her presentation to the royal court of Dol Amroth. Prince Imrahil, proud father to three sons and now a daughter (a fact that the people of the coast realm rejoiced relentlessly in) held the small infant in his arms. The first princess since the birth of Lady Findulas some forty years ago was greeted cheerily by Dol Amroth's people.

The babe –oblivious to the commotion her birth had caused- slept peacefully on, as her sire welcomed her proudly into the family of coast lords.

On her tiny wrist glistened a bangle of Elvish Mithril with a small pendant in the shape of a water-lily. It was custom for children of Dol Amroth to receive silver bracelets each equipped with symbols to represent their name. The three crown princes who were standing next to their father looked curiously up to their new sibling. Each prince sported a silver bangle that resembled the Mithril band around their baby sister's wrist.

Now, twenty-three years later, the new Queen of Rohan – the first queen since forty years- stood proudly next to her Lord husband, Eomer of Rohan. In his arms lay their newly born heir, Elfwine. The household of Meduseld had gushed over this long-awaited arrival. Maids and guards alike swooned over the handsome child who would later be known as Elfwine the Fair.

Soft tufts of black hair peeked out of the richly embroidered woolen blanket that served to warm the child in the chilly winter air. As the people of Rohan proudly declared their allegiance to the new prince, Lothiriel stepped closer to her husband. She covered her son's arm with the soft fabric of the blanket as it had slipped through the folds.

Suddenly, the babe's tiny hand grasped her fingers tightly. She felt his warm hand in hers for a moment, relishing in the feeling of being close to her family. Upon tugging Elfwine's arm back in his blanket she felt a hard band around his wrist. Eomer followed her incredulous gaze with anticipation as she inspected her son's arm anew. A tiny bangle of Mithril adorned the prince's wrist from which a miniature pendant of a racing horse dangled in the wind. An old custom, long forgotten combined with the symbol of the Mark- the queen smiled broadly as she traced the silver bangle tenderly with her fingertips. She then looked up to her husband. Her eyes, misty with tears, locked with his dark ones. Before their lips touched in a tender kiss, she whispered a teary "Thank you."


	2. Amber Necklace

**Amber Necklace**

* * *

Teething was a nasty business for both mother and child. Even though Princess Lathea was a seasoned warrior with three boisterous sons who had loved to test their sharp gifts on her breast, it still was very uncomfortable for the lady of the house to be experiencing her daughter's pain at this time which consequently resulted in hers. Unlike other Gondorian noblewomen, Lady Lathea of Dol Amroth had nursed all her children and refused to hand her babes to a wet nurse. Especially Imrahil's sisters had been keen on persuading her otherwise since it was not seemly for a noblewoman to nurse. Yet Lathea's strong will had prevailed.

Now she was seated against soft pillows on the window sill overlooking the shores of Dol Amroth. Lathea rocked her youngest daughter Lothiriel in her arms while trying to sooth her growing pains with a wet linen cloth.

"Sweetling, I know your tooth ails you. What can Mama do to make it better, mmh?"

Lathea rose with Lothiriel close to her breast and dropped the wet linen cloth on the window sill. Usually, she could rock her daughter to sleep with the sound of waves splashing against the shores. But today, the little girl simply couldn't find any rest. Rocking her child softly against her shoulder, the princess walked to the adjoining dressing chamber which she shared with her Lord husband. Truthfully, Lathea and Imrahil of Dol Amroth had never been a conventional couple. Joined quarters were not traditionally preferred by Gondor's nobility, yet the prince and princess of Dol Amroth were never keen on keeping up with court fashion's.

When the princess arrived at the adjoining dressing room which was spacious enough to host dinners in, she sat down on the ottoman in front of her dresser. Lothiriel having quieted down somewhat by the movement, still mewled discontentedly. Lathea stroked a dark lock of hair away from her forehead before suddenly locking at the dresser in surprise. There, on the carefully polished wooden surface, lay a small package wrapped in dark blue cloth. A note was pinned to it which Lathea instantly loosened with one hand while rocking her daughter softly.

She unfolded the piece of parchment slowly and began to read:

 _My dearest love Lea,_

 _before I left for Umbar, I wanted to gift you with this necklace. Our dearest Lothi will probably have grown her first tooth before my return, so I wanted you to have something that would bear her mauling in your stead. Mind you, I doubt she could cause similar damage to it than our boys have, but they are my children,after all, so one can never know for certain. I will think of you and the children always._

 _Love always,_

 _Imel_

The princess smiled lovingly and traced her husband's signature. She then proceeded to open the package. As she lifted the cloth, a knotted string of gold gleaming pearls was revealed. A necklace made from the precious amber mineral which was only found on the shores of Dol Amroth.

She lifted the necklace slowly from the cloth and held it to her daughter's face.

"Look, Lothy. Look what your Papa has left for you."

The small princess who had previously shifted in her mother's arms looked curiously at the piece of jewelry. Her tiny hand grasped the polished pearls which held the light of the waning afternoon sun.

* * *

The first rays of sunshine bathed the royal apartment in golden light as a shrieking voice sounded in Lothiriel's ear. Groggily, she fought consciousness, drifting slowly out of the realm of sleep. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and lifted herself up in a sitting position, only to realise that a tiny body hindered her endeavor. There, next to her lay her almost two-year-old son Elfwine - prostrate between herself and her husband, Eomer. His tiny head was hidden in the crook of his father's arm, one foot pressed on her ribcage while the other was wedged between her back and the mattress which made it impossible for her to move any which way.

Slowly, she lifted her son's tiny foot from her torso and stroked it tenderly before laying it on the fur next to her. Lothiriel sat up against the dark headboard of the big fourposter bed, taking in the sight of her little family. Eomer, crouched on the other side of the bed, had extended one arm towards her side.

The young queen shivered slightly as she rose to fetch her five-month-old daughter Lathea from her crib that stood next to the broad windows. She stepped onto several furs which had been laid out to keep winter's chill at bay. When she finally came to stand next to the crib, she lifted the small babe carefully from her sheep fur bedding.

Lothiriel cooed at the crying babe, lifting her close to her breast to soothe her. "What a good girl you've been, Lea. A full five hours of sleep. Whatever did I do to deserve this?"

Although it was way earlier than she would have liked, she felt well rested considering the circumstances. A soft hum on her lips, she made her way back to bed. When she settled back against the soft pillows which had considerably cooled off during her absence, she shrugged off her loose tunic with one shoulder to nurse her daughter.

In the meantime, Elfwine who had awoken from his deep sleep crawled up to his mother. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were slightly puffy as he leaned against her.

"Ma.", he croaked. His dark eyes adjusting to the light which shone brightly through the dark green curtains. While shifting her daughter slightly, she opened her free arm to his son who nestled against her.

"Good morning Elfi, did you climb out of your bed again?"

He giggled when her slender fingers tickled his sides. "No", he screeched. His eyes who were dancing merrily, held the same dark colour as Eomer's. Elfwine raised himself up on Lothiriel's shoulder while looking curiously at his baby sister. His chubby index finger stroked the babe's head softly. "Lea."

She kissed his chubby hand lovingly. "That's right, Lea is getting her breakfast, my love."

Before her son could say anything else, he was snatched up in his father's arms which promptly resulted in high screeches filling the air.

"What in Bema's name is this ruckus about in the middle of the night? Have I not earned a good night's rest?", Eomer grumbled playfully while tickling his son.

Lothiriel looked at her husband in mild annoyace while switching her daughter to her other breast.

"How would you know of tonight's perils, my lord? As I recall, you were sleeping soundly while your son and heir maltreated my kidneys before your other offspring screamed for her breakfast."

Eomer, robbing to her side, kissed her arm in appeasement while pressing his giggling son to his broad chest.

"I apologize for not having the hearing of a bat, my love.", he chuckled while ducking away from a pillow she threw his way.

Eomer sat up against the headboard while lifting his son into his lap which resulted in a small earthquake that shook the bed and the nightstand that stood next to Lothiriel's side. A knotted string of gleaming pearls threatened to slip from a brass plate.

Luckily, Lothiriel was quick enough to catch the piece of jewellery in time. She closed her hand around the precious necklace carefully when she suddenly felt a kiss on her neck.

"I apologize, my love, for your nightly assault. I am truly trying to make amends." Dark eyes searched for hers. She smirked and kissed him tenderly.

"Wretched man! Did you also want to rob me of my morning kiss?" He laughed heartily and kissed her again. "Never, my love, never."

For a while, they listened contentedly to Lathea's suckling noises when Eomer suddenly noticed hear nightwear.

"Are you wearing my tunic?"

Lothiriel absentmindedly brushed a brown lock of hair from her daughter's forehead before she replied.

"Ah, yes. Lea spat on my last night shift, so I grabbed one of your old shirts."

Eomer raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"This happens to be my favorite one, Lothy. It's certainly not that old."

She laughed heartily at his playful pout.

"Oh really? It's coming off at the seams, see?"

She raised her left shoulder for his inspection.

He grinned at her. His eyes, previously dancing with mirth, became dark with desire which caused her to laugh under her breath. Even though two children under the age of two clung to them, Eomer still knew how to make her weak in the knees.

"Even better then. I prefer practical clothing."

She clicked with her tongue in feigned annoyance which made him snicker.

"Never mind that, old man. 'Tis how we got here in the first place."

He crouched up closer to her while propping up his knees so that Elfwine could support himself. The toddler smiled broadly at his parents while raising himself up on two shaky legs.

"Old? Who is old?" He kissed her shoulder as if to make a point.

She smiled and gave in.

"Very well. Refined then.", she sighed, waving at Elfwine. One end of the necklace slipped from her fingers and swung rhythmically back and forth.

"Isn't that the necklace Elfwine wore when you weaned him?", Eomer asked with interest.

Lothiriel locked at the piece of jewelry. "That's right. I actually wanted to get Lea her own, but then Elfie and she are so close in age. It'll do just fine."

He took the glistening necklace from her hand and looked at it pensively.

"Is it customary to have your own in Dol Amroth?"

Lothiriel stroked her daughter's cheek softly and looked at the piece ofjewellery in her husband's hand. "Aye, this one actually belonged to me. My brothers also got one."

He looked at her as if to silently encourage her to continue on, so she complied.

"In Dol Amroth, it is custom to receive an amber necklace once a child grows its first tooth. It is believed that amber soothes teething pains.", Lothiriel explained as Eomer traced the gleaming pearls softly with his thumb.

"My brothers all bit theirs to pieces. I doubt there is a pearl left."

She laughed fondly at the memory. Eomer also laughed heartily at her remark. "That I can definitely believe my love."

He lifted Elfwine who had crawled next to him up with one arm while drawing his wife into his side with his other. He let out a huge yawn before kissing Lothiriel's head softly.

"Let's hope Lea has more manners, so the necklace lives on to serve its purpose for her siblings. She locked up to watch him smile self-consciously. A look that she had never seen before. Frankly, she wasn't sure if she liked it. Everything had always felt so certain with him.

She took the necklace from his hand and placed it gingerly back on its original resting place before lifting Lathea who was sleeping peacefully against her shoulder.

Eomer looked slightly dismayed while she took her time giving him a reply.

With one hand, she pulled his face towards her and whispered lovingly: There's no doubt in my mind that it will endure."

His relieved smile was almost comical. She stroked her thumb tenderly against his cheek before leaning into a kiss.

* * *

Thanks a million for your lovely comments. My goal is to update on a two-week-basis. But sometimes, final ideas make the story so much more tangible. Thank you again for your comments and subscriptions to the story :)

coecoe11 Thank you so much for your feedback. Yes, there will be much more Eothiriel-themed stories coming your way. For me, it was easier to plan it chronologically rather than relationship-centered. But I have plenty of ideas of how Lothiriel's and Eomer's relationship translates through jewellery. I am a sucker for them, really :) With regards to Lothiriel's mother and other upcoming characters -there will definitely be some follow-up-stories :)

Guest I love showing Eomer's playful side. It's so much fun to write everyday scenarios about this couple:) Hope this story is to your liking then ;)

A Thank you for your comments :) Longer stories are already in planning :)

Catspector Thanks so much :) Not every piece of jewellery will have this connection. But I definitely enjoy writing stories that echo these aspects :)


	3. Swan Jewellery

**Swan Jewellery**

Princess Lothiriel was accustomed to swans ever since she was born. They were on tapestries, engraved on the armor of Dol Amroth's famous swan knights, her father's signet ring, embroidered on her wardrobe and featured on nearly every piece of jewellery she owned. She didn't mind the animal itself, yet seeing it on so many items was becoming tiresome. Even terms of beauty were expressed by comparing a person to said animal - having a swan neck, being as elegant as a swan, graceful as… the list went on and on.

Lothiriel had never really felt comfortable in her role as the highest born female in Gondor because it meant to take on the role as swan princess - the epitome of demure grace and beauty. Growing up with three brothers, grace and daintiness was not something she regularly thought of. She didn't need to as both her mother and grandmother had served her as great role models for confidence and astuteness. Her biggest wish was to learn alongside her brothers, to be treated as an equal...

Quite frankly, Lothiriel had been shocked at the demure noblewomen she had been introduced to in Minas Tirith a couple of years later, as she made her debut in court. They breathed niceties behind their embroidered fans, laughed daintily at lame jests of their dinner partners and instructed her giddily at which shop to buy the best fabrics and jewels. Their veiled comments about her complexion had frustrated her endlessly as the noblewoman never aimed their poisonous words at her directly. With time, she had learned to use their passive aggressiveness against them, as they could never retaliate openly. Yet it took Lathea's precious daughter a long while to come into her own. During her time as a healer, Lothiriel discovered her true passion which required her to be resilient and tenacious.

It was on one evening in the herb gardens when a fellow healer pointed at the crimson sky. They had been harvesting elderberries for quite a while when suddenly loud quaking noises disrupted the peaceful silence. Lothiriel froze, her hands were still grasping the small black berries. Beside her, Istor, her fellow healer, stopped whistling merry tunes and looked up at the crimson sky.

"Well, who'd had thought they'd fly all the way up here. This is mighty unusual."

The young woman eyed her companion questioningly as he squinted his eyes to inspect something near the upper levels.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Istor grinned impishly and pointed in the air.

"The swans, love, the swans! I thought they'd migrated south by now."

Lothiriel looked up at the sky. Graceful birds, almost dark grey in the waning sun, flew over the citadel on the first level. Their cries were even louder in her mind. It struck a chord in her. Something buried deep inside her moved restlessly. A feeling of nostalgia mixed with sadness came over her and before she could even suppress it, a lump began to hurt in her throat.

"Beautiful creatures, these swans are." Istor's pondering voice interrupted her musings. Bitterly, she focused on her task yet again. "Yes, beautiful.", she spat indignantly while plucking the berries with such a force as if each berry had caused her harm."That's their primary use."

Istor, unperturbed by his companion's antics, sat on an overturned bucket and stretched his sore legs.

"Ah, but you see that's just one quality of these majestic creatures."

Lothiriel didn't even turn to look at Istor and continued with her work. "But that's what everybody thinks of them. Lovely, dainty creatures who are bred for beauty."

Istor took the basket standing next to Lothiriel and sifted through the glossy ink-coloured berries.

"If that's what people think, then I pity them because they symbolise so much more than that." The young woman froze, her hands sank to her sides. She didn't dare to look him in in the eye.

He continued none the less: "They are courageous beasts, ferocious in protecting those they love. They overcome adversity and above all else, they won't ever shirk their duty for they are the most loyal creatures until death."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She looked upwards, so Istor could only see her grey veil which lazily moved with the chilling evening wind.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. The reassuring squeeze made the lump in her throat feel hard and heavy.

"Beauty and grace are born in strength and growth, mistress Lothiriel. One isn't born a swan but becomes one."

Istor winked at Lothiriel who dried her eyes discretely with the back of her sleeve.

In the distance, the swan formation faded into the night sky. Only their chants could be heard in the herb gardens.

On Aragorn's coronation, a swan returned to the highest level of Minas Tirith. Her black hair was swept up in an intricate design. On her brow, she bore a silver diadem made of feathers and pearls. Her garb was enwrought with fine silver threads and pearls and moved gracefully on the white marble stone. In her hands, she carried the crown of the kings of Gondor. An honour that only she, a Swan Princess was entitled to. She moved through the onlookers and dignitaries as if she was walking on air. Before she stepped onto the dais, ready to present her liege with the symbol of his reign, her eyes halted on a tall man with piercing dark eyes.

It was only for a fleeting moment before she passed her family and friends. There, next to his cousin Faramir and his intended, Eowyn of Rohan stood a warrior who didn't need adornment even if his very life depended on it. His blonde mane moved softly in the wind.

His eyes focused on hers, never breaking their gaze. He didn't look at her adornment or her ceremonial garbs but only focused on her face. He never smiled but his eyes held so much, an interest, a longing - a fire.

It was then the Swan of Dol Amroth and the Lion of Rohan met for the very first time.


	4. Leather Bracelet

**Leather Bracelet**

She hadn't seen him coming, but there he was, taking a seat at the opposite side of the wooden table. His dark eyes were gleaming with interest, amazed by the newness of it all -the streets, the people, the smells, the colours -her. It was a blazing hot evening even by Gondorean standards but that hadn't prevented the vendors of the lower levels to try their hardest at luring potential costumers to their stands.

The smell of spicy meat was ever present and powerful. Pots and pans were jerked upwards into the air, its contents carrying out a mysterious choreography, dancing to the rhythm of their cooks. Pure heat mixed with the sharp scent of chili made her aware of her sweaty skin. Drops of moisture slid down her spine and tingled uncomfortably. The air was filled with sounds of people passing by the stall but Lothiriel heard his deep, somber voice loud and clear.

"So this is where you spent your evenings off?"

She nodded weakly and lowered her quill with which she had written his name only mere moments ago. The Princess of Dol Amroth had been asked by the soon-to-be-queen to stay on as her lady-in-waiting. A task not to taken lightly, especially with the additional challenge of organising a royal wedding so soon after the war.

His encouraging smile broke her daze: "Yes, your majesty. It is one of my favorite spots in all of Minas Tirith." He reached over the table and touched her wrist lightly which consequently sent shivers down her spine upon such intimate contact.

"I'd like you to call me by my name. Just Eomer - please?"

His gesture was meant a friendly request but there had never been friendship on her mind ever since she had laid eyes on him. His touch irritated her, haunted her - _tantalized_ her.

She swallowed slightly before she offered a response.

"Of course - Eomer."

The slight hesitation had him raise his eyebrows. When the last syllable rolled from her tongue, his face broke out in an infectious smile. It reached his ears, carved dimples into his cheeks and lit up his dark orbs. Lothiriel's insides twisted even more.

Her quill slipped through her fingers onto the parchment which caused her to break contact with his hand. Lothiriel jerked upwards and looked at the stack of parchment in front of her.

"Oh, dear, I didn't plan on company, you see. Let me just take this out of your way."

The Princess proceeded to collect her papers but Eomer beat her to it. His large hands scooped up several papers and stacked them neatly before passing them on to her.

"There you go."

She smiled appreciatively and sat them down next to her on the wooden bench.

"Thanks, my -" His gaze was jokingly stern. "Eomer."

He smiled contently and sat a bit more relaxed.

"There you go. It's a simple name to remember. It'll slip from your lips in no time."

A sudden pause made him realise his choice of words and before she knew it, his cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

"I meant... What I meant to say was - Bema."

She hadn't laughed so hard in a long while and it felt strange but comforting to be so at ease around him. His face added to her amusement, as he furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief before his features visibly relaxed. He guffawed shortly before his deep laughter mixed with hers in the hot summer air.

Lothiriel wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

"Tell me, has this scheme ever worked on a female before?"

She blinked through the mist of tears that had begun to form in the corner of her eyes, whilst still chuckling uncontrollably.

Eomer quivered with contained mirth while snorting: " To be honest, it has never even crossed my mind."

This made her laugh even harder. The tension which had been so apparent on his face only seconds ago visibly left Eomer. Their joined laughter sounded through the street along with the screams of the vendors.

The princess smiled broadly at her companion. "You may call me Lothiriel. Although I wouldn't know how swiftly one's tongue could master such an abundance of syllables."

His smile grew even broader if that was at all possible.

"I will try my best, Lothiriel." His foreign accent was stroking the vowels, caressing the consonants in an almost sinful manner. Before she lost herself in his gaze, a voice disrupted their moment.

"My lady princess, I was ready to take your order. Will it be your usual?"

Lothiriel looked slightly confused before she swiftly responded.

"Change of plans, Drihir. I am not alone tonight. Eomer, would you like to have dinner?"

In retrospect, she should have been ashamed to ask him so bluntly. This whole setting was unlawful, improper but she didn't care. Eomer didn't even bat an eyelid.

"Absolutely, I am ravenous. What do you recommend?"

Lothiriel mentally went through the different dishes available at Drihir's stall and replied: "What is your tolerance for spicy dishes?"

Eomer paused for a moment: "Well, I once ate a whole chilly whole - seeds and all. I think I can manage."

Drihir smiled politely and looked at Lothiriel with a grin: How about fire stew then?

She laughed heartily: " Very well, but bring chilly oil and some bread. Oh, and would you also bring some Coastal Ale, if you have any?

Drihir bowed his head swiftly and left their table.

Eomer looked at her in surprise: "Are those dishes of the capital?"

She shook her head. " No, they are famous Dol Amrothian foods. Chili oil is very popular in the south. Temperatures can rise high so it is an excellent method to conserve meat and fish."

Eomer fiddled with the cufflinks of his tunic. The blazing heat of the Drihir's stand was making him sweat. "So this is where you go when you are homesick?"

She smiled fondly and reached over the table to assist him in his endeavor. "That's quite right. Though it is only a temporary comfort. The people of Minas Tirith are not so fond of spices."

With her help, the second button was eased through the opening and revealed a strong wrist and forearm, though considerably lighter than her own. He searched for her gaze: "

"So southern cuisine is more to your liking?"

Her fingers still rested on the back of his wrist, feeling his steady pulse massaging her fingertips.

"Not necessarily. I am quite fond of novelties."

He shot her a glance - "As a temporary excitement?"

She laughed slightly and shook her head. "Rather as permanent memories."

He smiled broadly and took off a leather bracelet which was intricately intertwined. Complex patterns met at the center of a brass coin. Upon closer inspection she noticed that the coin bore markings on its surface - it was a horse.

Eomer took her hand which lay next to his on the table. He fastened the bracelet around her wrist and marveled at his handiwork.

"Think of it as a token of your new found novelty."

She laughed happily before Drihir set down two bowls of steaming fire soup.

This evening had been the beginning of their courtship. In retrospect, nothing had come so easy as this meeting. Two people enjoying a simple dish on the streets of Minas Tirith. She still laughed at the thought of how much truth Eomer's comment had contained. So new and yet so permanent, a feeling so foreign yet comforting at the same time. A memory that would last her their whole life together.

* * *

Thanks for your lovely comments and subscriptions to Jewels of Life. I really appreciate your input. Although the deadline of my thesis is looming, I simply had to write this story down. Enjoy!


	5. Pomander

**Pomander**

In the Houses of Healing, jewellery was prohibited for practical reasons. No healer sported a ring or a shiny bracelet simply because it just wouldn't do. As Mariel, the old chief healer had informed Lothiriel, if she was to work amongst her healers, she had to give up her special status. No one was more important just because they were born into nobility. Lothiriel cherished this way of thinking and the old healer had to quickly retract her opinion of the young girl. Interestingly, this realisation never changed her cool and distant exterior.

Imrahil's daughter had embraced the spirit of camaraderie and compassion among her fellow healers and quickly befriended the staff. She never complained or made use of her status which had not gone unnoticed by those who worked with her. After her mother's sudden passing, Lothiriel had wished for nothing more than to work in the Houses of Healing. Imrahil had been desperate to keep her in Dol Amroth but soon found it to be a fruitless endeavor. And so at the tender age of ten, the young princess was accompanied by her father and brothers to Minas Tirith.

After a decade of being a healer, Lothiriel could not imagine doing anything else. The freedom she felt caring for others could not be replaced. Luckily, her family eventually came to understand and appreciate her choice which had not always been easy. Similarly to Amrothos and Erchirion who were passionate sailors, Lothiriel considered her profession before her station as a high-ranking noble - a choice which was giddily discussed at court by bashful ladies and stuffy gentlemen.

Sometimes, she wondered what the bigger offense was in their eyes- her choosing to be a healer or being of the ripe age of one and twenty and husbandless - Probably both.

She sighed audibly and arched her back. After an uneventful night shift, she desperately needed some sleep. Rays of sunshine flooded the common room and warmed her dark garb. She dipped her quill into the near standing ink-pot and signed her name under her report in the staff-diary. The still wet ink was gleaming in the morning light and made her scribblings look like beetle's eyes.

Chief-healer Mariel was insistent on documenting every case one encountered during one's shift. It usually took quite some time to remember everything that went on while being on duty, as quiet moments were few and far between. Lothiriel for one struggled to recall details during intense care-sessions. Especially after the war, healers had been high in demand and so this regiment had been abandoned for practical reasons. But now, nearly one year after the Ring-war, Mariel had been adamant that old practices be re-introduced.

Lothiriel yawned soundly and put the quill back in its original resting place. She rose from her chair and moved to the window overlooking the lower levels of Minas Tirith. She leaned against the wall next to the window and rested her hands on the window sill. Upon gazing out of the high arched window, red and orange streaks blurred together on the firmament, yielding to the new morning. Pensively, her eyes wandered to the people on the streets of the lower levels who from her perspective, resembled crawling ants -busy and full of life. Although she was feeling the exhaustion creeping into every single bone of her body, she refused to seek out her chamber. It meant waking up to a new day, a day on which she had to face him.

Eomer and his sister Eowyn would arrive tomorrow morning with their entourage. Truthfully, Lothiriel was glad to be seeing Eowyn again. Her betrothal to her cousin Faramir had been sudden but very joyous. And now, after a long year of patient waiting, the nuptials of Gondor's steward and the White Lady of Rohan would be the biggest spectacle since the wedding of King Elessar and his bride, Queen Arwen. Lothiriel sighed heavily as she crossed her arms under her chest. And it would be their first appearance as an engaged couple. A prospect that considering recent developments unnerved her.

Several sennights ago, Eomer had sent a letter asking her to stop working at the Houses of Healing. Her duties were highly appreciated but needed elsewhere. She remembered how anger had surged through her body. Since her preparation for queenship would require a lot of time, he had suggested refraining from any further employment.

After a day's passing, she put her anger in plain writing. The answer had been considerably court, stating that his request was preposterous and since she was no subject of his, he could stick his wish up where the light wouldn't reach.

To her surprise, her heated response had not prompted any immediate retaliation. Besides the note she had received from him that he would arrive tomorrow morning, nothing had been delivered to her to convey his sentiments. After her anger had subsided, concern grew heavy inside her. Had she been too harsh? But certainly he of all people had to understand her convictions.

Eomer of Rohan was no man of pomp and circumstance. From the very beginning, he had made his intentions quite clear which had been refreshing to her. Her father who already regarded him as a fourth son, had been elated about these recent developments. After their meeting at the coronation and her frequent appearances at court, numerous encounters with Rohan's sovereign had been inevitable.

Sometimes she had wished her life wouldn't exist behind these walls. To be just a healer, a woman even -but it simply could not be done. Her station would eventually come back to haunt her but not like this. After having taken on her new role as lady-in-waiting, there was virtually no ounce of privacy left. Yet she had been able to still resume her duties as a healer. Luckily, her queen had been very understanding and allowed her to return to the Houses of Healing to work half her shifts.

Though with Eomer, everything was different. Even before their betrothal had been properly announced, several people had approached her with the request to refrain from working as a healer as it was not befitting for a king's intended. It had annoyed her, exasperated her even but when his letter arrived, she had been livid.

"What are you sulking about?"

Lothiriel jerked out of her dark ponderings and turned her head. It was Lael, a young healer who hailed from her mother's homeland Umbar. His dark hair was shortly cropped, as was his beard which contoured his high cheekbones in a nice fashion.

"Nothing, I'm just tired, is all."

Lael's eyebrows crept to his eerily straight hairline.

"Tired of thinking how you will face him?" A devilish smile crept on his face.

Lothriel shot him an ugly glare. "Believe it or not, he's not the only thing that is occupying my mind."

His hoarse laughter made her grin involuntarily. As he took a seat at the great wooden table which stood in the middle of the large common room, his large frame almost swallowed the chair whole.

"Well, he'd be on mine all the time."

With a laugh, she pushed herself away from the stone wall and strode to the table to grab an apple that was laying on top of a fruit platter.

"Don't let Istor hear you."

He shrugged his shoulders while looking unperturbed.

"I'm a free man Lothig. Nothing is set in stone..."

"until you die." she interrupted him while pushing the red fruit playfully into his mouth.

His eyes danced with laughter as he soundly bit into the apple.

"You finally got it.": he munched contentedly and stretched his arms over his head.

She made a face at him while grabbing one side of his chair.

"Thanks again for covering tomorrow."

He laughed incredulously: "Do I have a choice? Besides, I hate night shifts as you are aware."

Lothiriel stroked his buzzcut: "Certainly, as probably is everyone else and their mother. I truly do not know, why Mariel keeps assigning them to you."

Lael closed his eyes in exasperation: "Because she is a demon, tasked to vex us until all Mordor collapses in itself."

"Technically, I think it already did."

"Then we're doomed!" He rose and went over to the small desk where the staff-diary was kept.

"Speaking of the devil." Lothiriel made a grimace in fear of being overheard. "She's inspecting the herb gardens on the fifth level. Methinks she won't return until late afternoon. Thought you wanted to know."

Lothiriel who strolled leisurely to the door, turned her head in surprise "Why would I want to know that?"

Leal crossed his arms and grinned cheekily at her. "Oh, you'll know. Have a nice rest."

She rolled her eyes and exited the common room. On her way to her chamber, fatigue finally overwhelmed her like a soft blanket and made her unaware of her door already standing slightly ajar.

When she entered her room she first noticed her window standing open before her gaze fell on a tall figure sitting on the side of her cot while cradling something in his big hands. Eomer.

"What in all Arda are you doing here?" Tiredness made her forget all politeness.

He sat upright and focused on her with his dark eyes. A smile ghosted over his tired face. "Lothiriel, I wanted to see you."

"Why are you in my bedroom? I thought wouldn't arrive until tomorrow morning." She looked incredulously at him.

He tenderly caught her wrist in his hand and tried to pull her down on the cot to him but she evaded his touch.

"We arrived earlier than expected, so I came here straight away. I wanted to see you."

"So you have already said." Her gaze was unwavering, any ounce of fatigue had left her system. Eomer sighed audibly and rested his hands on his thighs. He searched for her gaze almost pleadingly:

"Lothiriel, I wanted to apologise;" he swallowed uncomfortably. It was quite foreign to his usual confident self. "It was not my place to ask you to stop working at the Houses of Healing. I didn't think about how much it means to you."

"Obviously." Anger began to boil inside of her.

He rose from her cot with remarkable ease for such a tall person.

"I am truly sorry, my love. I never meant to aggravate you over this."

Lothiriel straightened her back and stepped away from him if that was at all possible considering how tiny her chamber was. Her spine curved against the thick leather bindings of her books which were neatly arrayed on a shelf behind her.

His gaze held so much he couldn't express. Guilt, annoyance, a hint of insecurity.

Lothiriel fought the feeling of sadness that threatened to tighten her throat. "Why couldn't we just talk about this? Was it really necessary to send this letter?

He looked trapped: "It was suggested that your employment was no longer suitable considering the circumstances..." He stopped his pitiful attempt as she raised her hand.

"Who did?" She looked incredulously at him. "Your council? My family? Your local blacksmith?"

He combed his hair with his fingers in annoyance. "As I said, I realised it was not my place to ask this of you."

Lothiriel huffed in contempt: " Damn right it wasn't! Do you have any idea how many people tried to stop me from working here over all these years? Of all people, I did not think you would have anything against it."

Eomer looked devastated, he didn't even try to mask it. "I know and I regret it deeply."

Her brow arched in surprise. Even though the current situation did not warrant for any humor, she couldn't help herself.

Her light chuckles filled the silence. " And here Eowyn was so convinced I could only expect an apology from you when Mumakils fly. Who knew that day would arrive so soon."

A wry smile appeared on his lips until low chuckles erupted from his mouth. "What can I say, I am a man of many talents."

They smiled at each other and before she knew it, she found herself swept up in his warm embrace.

"Can you ever forgive my thickheadedness, my love?" He bent his head towards hers so that their foreheads touched.

She sighed deeply and breathed in his wonderful scent of fresh air, leather, and horse. It played havoc with her senses. She cradled his cheek in her palm while searching for his gaze.

"I can and I will. But Eomer, promise me that we will confide in each other in the future. I know you have been carrying your burden alone for quite some time but if this is to work, we have to trust each other."

His dark eyes gazed tenderly at her. "I promise, Lothig." And with that, he kissed her tenderly. Her arms snaked tightly around his neck and their kiss grew heavier. She felt all tension leaving her body, making her languid.

He stopped his affections quite abruptly so that Lothiriel moaned in protest.

He chuckled slightly: "I think a gift is in order to solidify my promise."

She smiled and shook her head in disbelief: "You don't have to give me anything." His warm finger quelled her protest, as he opened his other hand to reveal a long, golden necklace with a round pendant the size of a cherry.

Upon closer inspection, Lothiriel noticed the intricate carvings and embellishments on its surface, looking like glistening Simbelmynës. The likes she had seen on Edoras' lush, green hills. With delicate fingers, she picked up the pendant and noticed a golden banner around its center. Finely carved letters formed the words: _myn_ _dyreste_ _ond_ _sweteste_ _h_ ǽlend.

"My dearest and sweetest..."

"Healer.", he responded.

She smiled at him with misty eyes and stroked the precious pendant. "It's a...", he started.

"Pomander", she finished. He nodded and showed her how to open it. With his thumbnail, he carefully levered the vial open at the banner.

"I filled it with rosehip since you always seem to run out of it..."

He never finished his sentence as she kissed him with all her might. Lothiriel stroked his cheeks tenderly with her hands. "Thank you, my love, it a precious gift."

He smiled at her and the lines on his forehead disappeared. "My pleasure."

They remained in their embrace for a moment longer, before Lothiriel took his hand and pulled him towards the cot.

"Lothig, we can't. What if someone sees us."

A wicked smiled crossed her features, as she pulled him with her on the mattress. "So what? What will they do? Force us to get married?"

He guffawed loudly and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"Besides, the only person who could tell is currently inspecting the royal herb gardens."

Eomer smiled roguishly and stole a kiss from her luscious lips. "In that case, let's get some rest then."

* * *

It was indeed the finest celebration the people of Minas Tirith had witnessed in a long while. The newly married couple waved happily at the cheering crowd. Nobles from far and wide marveled at the lovely pair. Though several lords and ladies also focused on a different twosome that day. The king of Rohan and his intended, Princess Lothiriel stood proudly next to their extended family. Albeit the horselord tried to refrain from any physical contact with his fiancé, his proximity to the princess was still improper to Gondorean standards.

The bashful ladies and stuffy gentlemen of the court could not make out an engagement ring which would have been of the highest priority for proper Gondorean couples. However, the mystery of the plain looking pomander had left room for much speculation at soirees and noble gatherings from that day onwards. Eventually, it was agreed upon that it probably was a curious tradition of the northern barbarians.

* * *

 _Pomander_ : Is a vial or a bejeweled pendant which contained perfumes or herbs during medieval times.

Thank you so much for your lovely comments, subscriptions, and favorites! I really appreciate your feedback. New stories are coming soon.


	6. Wedding Band

**Wedding Band**

Meduseld's wedding preparations were in full swing. Maids aired vacated rooms that still held the stench of the past. Lawns were cut and groomed as were the horses and their riders who complained silently of their ill-treatment.

The Golden Hall was finally worthy of its praise as tapestries were mended, carvings polished and hearths stocked with firewood. Consequently, the city of Edoras buzzed with excitement upon the impending nuptials of their king.

But Eomer of Rohan had been a rare sight these days. Naturally, this had not gone unnoticed by the citizens of Edoras.

"Mind you, he probably keeps himself locked away in his chambers. A different kind of polishing, you see", a stablehand quipped while scrubbing the floors of the royal stables.

"If I were him, I wouldn't leave my bedroom for a whole year!" another rider boasted. This revelation, however, made a lad furrow his brow in disbelief: "A whole year? What could you possibly do that long?"

Promptly, his musings were drowned in roaring laughter. "Well, read a book, he'll certainly not." And after another round of cackling laughter and merciless teasing of the oblivious youth ensued, the merry gathering was swiftly broken up by the marshal of the Westmark who happened to overhear them.

Considering the impending threat of mucking the nearby latrines for the foreseeable future, their duties at present suddenly became much more interesting. And so, after ruefully bowing their heads, Erkenbrand sighed audibly while heading towards the entrance of the stable.

Truthfully, Eomer's obsession with preparing for his bride had been funny in the beginning. But now, his newly found obsession with goldsmithery had gained Berthoald, the blacksmith, a new apprentice.

In fairness, he did not doubt his king's talents, yet he could not comprehend Eomer's dedication to this simple piece of jewellery. Then again, having never felt a strong desire to wed, Erkenbrand found any additional effort to win a female's affection besides the obligatory tankard of ale or whiskey unnecessary.

He steered towards the blacksmith's dwelling, musing to the sound of crunching gravel. Truthfully, he felt happy for his friend who had never wished for his new role as king. And now, he was to wed a princess. A smirk came over his lips. Kingship apparently had its conveniences, despite Eomer's many objections.

Pushing aside the flap of the forge, Erkenbrand stepped into the dimly lit workshop. Immediately, sharp smells of ash and metal filled his nose. When he looked to the hearth, he spotted him right away: Hovering over a coal-black anvil, the Lord of the Mark carved on a golden piece of metal. Berthold who had come to stand next to the hearth wiped his grimy hands on his apron. He shot a grin at Erkenbrand as he approached the working station.

"Is he still working on the ring?"

The blacksmith smiled good-naturedly and proceeded to throw a couple of logs onto the hearth. "He wants to do right by his lady."

"He would prefer it not to be referred to in the third person." Eomer never looked up from his task as he polished the gold gleaming surface for the umpteenth time.

"He lives!" Erkenbrand exclaimed in feigned wonder.

"Is there anything you need, Erkendbrand?", his tone was dry as a bone.

"You, my liege! Council is starting in an hour and I'd like to go over the upcoming assignments. That is only if your current pursuit is not keeping you."

Eomer stared at the two men in annoyance as they unsuccessfully masked their guffaws with slight coughs. Rohan's sovereign rolled his eyes and slid the ring over the first half of his index finger. "I shan't be long, I believe it won't take long to find a new marshal."

Erkenbrand grinned and slapped Eomer on his back. "To be fair, Eomer. You'll outshine Berthoald with your talents. May I?" He asked softly before taking the piece of jewellery offered by his king.

The ring shimmered in the light of the hearth, showing intricate lines intertwining around the gold gleaming metal. Erkenbrand squinted to make out delicate petals forming the Mark's most famous flower guarded by curved leaf branches. Considering the size of the jewel which was fairly small, Erkenbrand could not help but marvel at the impeccable craftsmanship.

"It truly is worthy of a queen, Eomer", he said appreciatively.

A modest smile grazed the king's features. "Then it must be true, knowing that even a convinced bachelor such as yourself can appreciate it."

* * *

The morning of the wedding came swiftly. In front of Meduseld's steps, the people of Edoras had gathered in excitement in order to catch a glimpse of their new queen. While the act of marrying was not that elaborate, the Rohirrim took great pride in symbolic gestures. That was why small children trailed the path up to the stone steps, each of them holding a Symbelmyne for the bride who would soon pass them on her way to the Golden Hall.

As the lord of the Mark stepped onto the dais to receive his soon-to-be wife, his heart soared with pride looking at his people who had joined today's celebration. When his thumb glided over the smooth surface of the ring, he saw the Princess of Dol Amroth walking up the path to the Golden Hall. Illuminated by the morning sun, she was a true vision to behold. Clad in a silver and gold threaded gown, she glowed with sheer happiness as she received flower after flower by eager children.

They locked eyes the minute she placed a slippered foot onto the first of many steps. He simply wanted to hurl her into his arms and carry her through the doors. Yet he remained, waiting for her to extend a graceful hand towards him. Although it was against Gondorean protocol which had been enforced to appease certain Southern nobles, he simply did not care. Never breaking his gaze, he pressed a soft kiss on the back of her hand which made her smile mischievously.

Eomer offered Lothiriel his arm which she took gratefully. Under roaring applause, they slowly walked through the wooden double doors. After that, Eomer had difficulty listening to anything that was being said. He only remembered her infectious smile, the warmth of her hands and the softness of her voice. When they spoke their vows, he softly stroked over her ring finger which soon received a golden band carved with intricate symbols. Her eyes shone with love and tenderness as she slipped on a larger ring on his finger. When they became man and wife, the Golden Hall was filled with joyous cries.

Soon after their reception on the dais, he told her about the ring which in turn was rewarded with a rather shameless kiss. And even now, after several decades of marriage, the queen would always find something new on her ring. After her family, it is one of her most prized possessions. Eternal love materialized in an intricate band of gold.


	7. A Soldier's Mark

**A Soldier's Mark**

Why are you even consulting me then? Her words were harsh - as intended but secretly she would come to loathe them.

"I have to go, Lothig. This is not up to me." He tried a reconciliatory tone but it just made it worse.

Her hands clenched on the window sill, scratching over the wooden grain in the process. She turned to him. "Tell me, why is it that you have to go? Lack of soldiers or leadership is certainly not the reason, is it?"

His brow furrowed in anger. She had seen it before. Not so much with her but with others. His eyes blazed and his temper flared. But then again, no one could provoke him as perfectly and systematically as she could.

"I swore an oath. To protect lord and land. T'is my duty to ride out as any other rider would."

"You ARE the lord of these lands!" she cried angrily. "You have sworn to protect Rohan, yes. But if you die, there won't be a lord whose riders can swear an oath on! You can't just ride out anytime there is an attack on your lands!"

"Don't you tell me what I can and cannot do!", he thundered. "I was a soldier long before I was king. I won't hide behind my crown when there is a fight to be fought, woman!"

"That's right - t'is a fight, not a war! One could arrive at the conclusion that Rohan lacks good soldiers to protect her borders.", her eyes blazed dangerously.

"You don't know what you're talking about!", he raged, walking like a caged lion. " What do you know of the hardships the Mark has endured? What do you know of us?" He said it and immediately regretted it. But then it had already slipped from his lips, ready to hurt - ready to wound.

Cold betrayal spread like ice through her veins. Silence expanded, threatened to suffocate them both. "You are right, my lord." Her voice was unwavering even in the deadliest of assaults.

"I truly do not know of your past hardships and that of your people's." She raised herself up, back ramrod straight. "But know this. I too gave an oath, to protect my people and act in their best interest to secure their future."

She glared at him. Although her diplomatic mask was as unreadable as ever, she could not hide the glint of disappointment that waivered in her look. A knocking sound disrupted the silence, relieving them both of what they were about to say.

Elfhelm, marshal of the Eastmark entered their apartments but remained respectfully at the door. He bowed towards his king and queen before addressing his sovereign: "My lord, your éored has been readied. We will ride at your word."

Eomer straightened his back and took his helmet from a near standing dresser. "Very, well. Lead the way." He didn't even spare a look at his wife when he crossed the room. He was ready to ride out, ready to leave her with the emotional debris of their fight.

Elfhelm bowed to Lothiriel and mumbled: "My lady queen."

The door clicked shut before she could even say anything. Her fists clenched in anger. Even if it was the last thing on her mind, she had to see him off. She would never forgive herself if she didn't.

Lothiriel let out a shuddering breath before she reached the wooden double doors of their apartment. The walk through the empty corridor felt endless to her. Anger and sadness choked her, made her mind rage with endless possibilities of his poisonous words. She hated him for not being reasonable. She would never stand in his way of protecting his people - their people. But this was just an unnecessary risk. He wanted to prove his worth to his men and therefore putting everyone in jeopardy. Even Marshal Elfhelm had strongly advised his king to remain in Edoras. Usually, he would never question his liege but even he could not turn a blind eye towards his stubbornness.

She felt panic clawing its way up to her throat. His readiness to throw himself into every battle that presented itself was not only alarming but it showed that he had not accepted his role as king wholeheartedly. They didn't have children yet, no one would be able to continue the house of Eorl if he died, not in the Mark anyway. All these different thoughts sounded like a beehive in her mind, only challenged by the sounds of her steps which great echo. Eventually, they died once she stepped onto the rich carpet leading to the Golden Hall.

Small fires crackled silently in several hearths along the high walls. Their familiar scent sent shivers down her spine as she pictured how the hall had been the venue to teary farewells just minutes before. How many would return? Even though she was used to the comings and goings of soldiers, she had ever been close to them, never knew their personal histories, their families. Since her ascension to queenship, she had grown accustomed to a far more familiar way of dealing with people which stood in stark contrast to her Gondorean upbringing. The Rohirrim were so much more close-knit and communal in their way of living. To see riders off to battle was a commonly celebrated tradition, held in high esteem even. People took notice, people cared. A small sob escaped her lips before she neared the great entrance of the hall but managed to contain her feelings once she arrived at the entrance.

Sharp sounds of metal and the overall feeling of departure lay in the air as she passed through the wooden doors. Both doorwards bowed their heads while she stepped into the light of the morning sun. Several members of their household had already gathered to see the soldiers off. She observed how riders mounted their steeds, ready to depart at the word of their king.

Lothiriel searched for him in the bustling crowd, her eyes were dashing around in the courtyard. If there had been more time, she would have screamed at his arrogance, raged at his pig-headedness but now, she only wished they could part in peace. She found his gaze when he ascended the bottom of the dais. His eyes still held the sting of anger, of grudge - maybe even guilt. Before he stepped onto the platform she turned to the housekeeper, Alva, so he could not see her face. A soft breeze picked up their skirts and pulled their hems southwards. She swallowed her anger and offered a smile to the old woman, graciously taking a golden chalice from her withered hands before nodding her thanks. Its contents gleamed like liquid sunshine as the light surface reflected the queen's sorrowful features before they dissolved into a mask of cool politeness. It was the face with which she would send him off.

Alva's pitiful glance made her resolve even more solid, so she grasped the vessel even tighter. It was then when she felt him standing behind her, his presence ever so regal, towering and inescapable. She offered the chalice to him while raising her voice for all to hear:

 _May this cup guard its drinker and lead him on his way._

 _May he have the powers of heaven and earth to guide him._

 _May he prevail through peril and turmoil to lead him back to home and hearth._

 _And may he_ receive _a thousand blessings upon his return._

She evaded his fingers but his gaze was fixed on her. So many emotions flickered through his orbs as the shouts of riders and the citizens of Edoras blended into one unanimous "Hail!". Any sound drained instantaneously from her ears as he bowed his head and strode off. The rest passed in a blur. Riders followed their king through the gates, dust wallowed through the streets like shadows until an eery silence came over the capital.

* * *

The light of the waning sun shone through the high arched windows in the Golden Hall, dipping the room in burnt orange. As Lothiriel hurried down the adjoining corridor, she felt the warmth of the waning sun on her face. Only moments ago, she had been alerted by Glaedwine, a member of the council, that riders had been spotted in the east, due to return in an hour. His brows had furrowed in sorrow, pointing out that several riders bore severe injuries.

Lothiriel's fists clenched as she walked through the rays of orange light which swiftly turned sanguine - a foreshadowing of what was about to come? She could not say. She stepped onto the dais in front of the throne to assess the situation: Every available hand had been asked to join her in the great hall to treat the injured. Benches which had already been moved in anticipation of the welcome feast had now been pushed aside. She observed Alva instructing maids and stablehands to prepare linens and makeshift beds. Mentally ticking off what needed to be done ere the first horn's blow, Lothiriel closed her eyes for a short while. She would not think about him. For the past weeks, she had been successfully avoiding thoughts of him - with the occasional slip-ups. But now, images of him forced themselves before her eyes. She exhaled slowly and proceeded to step into the bustling beehive that was the Golden Hall. When finally the sounds of horns alerted the household, she prepared herself for what was about to come.

After the doors of the Golden Hall had been pushed open to receive its first riders, everything dissolved besides the necessary. She never looked for him, only focused on those who needed treatment. The sound of bustling feet, moans and muffled conversations waned with each passing hour. For Lothiriel's peace of mind, she just focused on her tasks at hand. As she treated injuries, stitched up cuts, and dressed wounds, she found peace in her chores. Eventually, she felt Alva's warm hand urging her to seek rest and let others take over which she had refused before. But now, she felt fatigue aching in her bones, making her lethargic. Informing a fellow healer of the rider's condition, she rose slowly to take the old housekeeper's arm.

"He is in your apartments, my lady.", she tried softly but Lothiriel could only muster a short hum.

Before silence threatened to expand, Alva whispered: "Try to be gentle with him, my queen. I know it's been hard for you both, but do try my lady." She swallowed hard at the housekeeper's words. Alva goodnaturedly patted her arm: "Rest before you speak with him, he knows all too well to make amends sooner or later. That _eosol_ , so stubborn!"

Unwillingly, she had to smile at her housekeeper's whispered insult and now she felt how long her facial muscles had not been used. Before she knew it, they had come to stand in front of the royal apartment.

Lothiriel turned to her housekeeper and hugged her. "Thank you, Alva." The old woman smiled conspicuously before bowing her head swiftly and vanishing into the darkness of the corridor.

As the queen entered the apartment, only the weakened light of the hearth illuminated parts of their bedroom. She trod lightly on the soft woollen carpet, never noticing the faintly lit silhouette near the fireplace. She discarded her slippers on her way to the armchair, slightly fiddling with the buttons on her blood-stained, woollen outer dress. When she braced her arm on the side of the chair for more support, a warm hand came to grasp her own.

"Eomer?" Although she had expected him, there was still an element of surprise. Before she could say anything, he hauled her against his broad chest. In the faint light, they glared at each other, both feeling the tension of their past encounter. Before Lothiriel thought of anything she could throw at him, they came together for a passionate kiss.

Hands pulled at garments, fumbled with buttons and strings before they almost fell on the soft lambskin in front of the fireplace. Her legs circled his waist as he ground his arousal into her pelvis. Blood rushed into her limbs, making her drunk with desire. Her hands freed him of his torn linen shirt before they travelled down his breeches.

Now clad in a light chemise, Lothiriel gasped as he pulled down her sleeves to reveal her quivering breast. The sound of ripping fabric made her laugh at their insanity, only to be ravished by his passionate mouth. She moaned loudly as his whiskers pricked her sensitive skin around her nipples as he sucked and kissed and bit everything he could reach. They raged like animals, growled in pleasure when they finally became one. Only then, she felt the pressure and bottled-up anger leaving her, materialising in the most sensual and aggravating love session. He pinned their arms over her head, their fingers intertwining like claws. The never-ending assault of intense thrusts made her feel weak with ecstasy. Her loins clenched ever so deliciously as she received him anew.

They would whisper words of love and hate in both Rohirric and Sindarin. Their hot breaths mingling, before they leaned in for another kiss. She hoped for a delay, wished that the sweet torment would never end but they both were dangerously close to the abyss, nearing it in tall strides. When their voices reached a crescendo, words of forgiveness were spoken.

They held each other for a while, neither of them able to put anything into words. When the hearth threatened to grow cold, Eomer rose from the lambskin. After a couple of logs were thrown onto the fire, he proceeded to fetch some wine. When he joined her again, they were both sipping wine, listening to the crackling fire. A short while later, they were making sweet love again. This time savouring each touch and kiss. In the afterglow, Lothiriel was sprawled against his naked chest, shivering lightly as his fingers softly trailed the curve of her spine.

"Are you cold?", his low voice rumbled. She smiled and shook her head before leaning in for another kiss. As they parted, he spoke again: "I want to show you something." She looked at him in surprise.

"Haven't you already?" His eyes danced with mirth as he rose again to fetch something from their pile of discarded clothes. When he returned, she made room for him on the lambskins.

"What is it?", she asked.

He opened his fist to reveal a leather string with something attached to it. In the gleaming light, she could not make it out at first. He pulled her towards him and held it against the light of the heath. It was a mark of some sort, the bronze surface revealed engravings in the shape of a horse. Upon closer inspection, she could make out smaller symbols.

A low voice sounded in her ear: " It is my soldier mark. It has been with me ever since my first assignment when I was sixteen." His thumb softly stroked across the smooth surface.

"How do you know which mark belongs to whom?", Lothiriel asked with interest.

"Since we don't have a written language, we use symbols such as this." With his thumb, he pointed towards to the galloping horse. "The Méara", he continued, "stands for the house of Éorl. There are each different symbols for rank, family and region. Every town or garrison of a rider has a different symbol, like the raven for the Wold or the sun for Edoras."

She was entranced by his words, circling of each sign with the tip of her finger as he explained: "The crosses on the bottom signify my rank. Every rider starts with one and gets more once he is promoted. A rider has one, a captain two, a marshal three and I, as the first marshal and king have four."

Lothiriel took the mark from him and inspected it anew. "Why do you have both the sun and the Simbelmynë on your mark?" She felt his smile against her neck. After a soft kiss, he answered.

"As you know, I hail from Aldburg. It's the symbol of my first home." Lothiriel was so engrossed in looking at the symbols that she didn't notice Eomer's weak smile at first.

She turned to look at him to catch it just in time. "Do you miss Aldburg?" Truthfully, she dreaded his answer.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her with him. "Sometimes. But I feel it is a home from a past long gone. When we returned today, it truly felt like home."

A sincere smile graced her features.

"Eomer, I..."

"Lothiriel..."

They both smiled before Eomer started anew, combing softly through her hair with his long fingers. "Lothiriel, I am very sorry about my departure. My words were not only cruel but injust. When I saw you treating my men today, I regretted my anger deeply. I have, ever since I left, really." He paused for a moment and she did not interrupt him for she knew there was more.

"I know I cannot fight every battle. I know how the men act around me. They try to protect me while fending off the enemy. It is the single worst feeling. And there is too much at stake."

She stroked his cheek affectionately. "Eomer, I know that this is not an easy decision to make. It's just in the future, I'd like to be of help."

He smiled and rose to sit. "I know that, my love." Grasping her arm, he laid the mark into the palm of her hand.

"Keep it for me?" She rose to embrace him. "Just until you need it again."

And so it was. Every time the king departed, his lady took it upon herself to give him his mark. Only now, an additional symbol graced the bronze surface: A small swan.


	8. Remembrance Token

**Remembrance Token**

She exhaled. One final breath escaped her lungs as she felt the pressure leaving her body. It was as if the world had been brought to a standstill. The young woman lifted herself up on her arms, tried to make out the tiny babe that was now wrapped in linens and swarmed by women clad in dark fabrics. 'Like ravens', the woman thought to herself. But why was there no sound? No life-giving scream to announce its presence?

It was as if all sound had been drained. Only colours. Frightful, nightmarish colours painting her worst fears. Still no sound. Her heart clenched inside of her, tattooing the frantic rhythm into her breast. Too scared to voice her request, she held onto the crisp, white bed linens. It was then when a warm hand reached to her forehead, dabbing her clammy forehead with a moist cloth.

"You did everything you could, _min heorte_." Strong arms came to embrace her, pressing her to the sound of a beating heart. Her throat ached as if blades were cutting her from the inside, as her head spun with the dark realisation. Shudders rippled through her body while Alva continued to hold her, rocking softly back and forth. Lothiriel sought the crook of her neck, only listening to the soft crooning of the old woman. Eventually, her body relaxed as tears streamed down her cheeks. There was still no sound beside her growing sobs, her body still numb with shock.

The young queen luckily never saw her husband's look of excitement as he stormed into the bedchamber only to witness the throng of midwives and maids swarm to him like a buzzing beehive. His smile fell as he saw the small, crouched figure of his wife clinging to the old housekeeper. Several voices were buzzing in his ears, urging him to leave the chamber at once as his wife was not ready to receive him. Burning anger made its way up his throat, attacking each and every person who thought it necessary to keep him apart from his family- _his_ _family_.

After clear words of dismissal were spoken, only Alva stayed behind to look after the stillborn child. Whispering soft words of encouragement into the queen's ear, she finally left her side to tend to the babe. With considerable effort, he made his way towards their bed, his heart aching for both his wife and the lost child. She never saw up to him- he wondered whether she had registered his presence at all. He took her into his arms, holding onto her as tears seeped into her hair. They stayed like this for a long while, grieving the loss of their new arrival.

It was truly the hardest thing he had ever known, feeling helpless as if a black void had come to reside amongst them. His wife did not find her voice for days, only staring blankly into space. Their child - a girl, had been shown to her only once, yet never been laid into her arms, the sheer thought of it made her tremble with tears. They were both barely coping, both merely hanging on by a thread. But when the day of the burial came, Eomer could not bear the thought of sending his own off to the hall of his forefathers without his blessing. Before both, he and his recovering wife made their way up to the burial ground, he had asked Berthoald, the blacksmith, to assist him with his wish.

When the small child was laid to rest, Edoras grieved the loss of their princess, wishing her a swift passing to the halls of her ancestors. Both the king and queen remained after the ceremony, leaning into one another to one another. Finally, Eomer dared to raise his voice:

" _Min heorte_ , there is something I want to give you." Lothiriel looked on to the burial mound, her eyes watering with grief. Pulling out a small disk, he traced the imprinted metal with his thumb. "Look."

His wife gasped audibly as she saw the golden plate reflecting rays of sunshine when he laid the piece of jewellery into her hand: On the metal surface, a small imprint of a hand was visible, the hand of her child in the palm of her own.

Tears flowed freely when she grasped the object forcefully. He embraced her tightly, never needing to explain anything more. She held onto him, torn by sadness and love. But it was then that she knew that they could depend on each other, trusting one another with life's burdens. So when once again the queen grew large with child and eventually delivered a healthy son, they both rejoiced in their gift. Lothiriel only ever regretted never to have held her first child, as she had been too scared by the realisation of death. But when she looked at Elfwine's little face, she remembered her daughter's. When his small fingers came to grasp her own, she thought of the small palm that was forever engraved on a golden disk. And when they welcomed more children into their midst, the queen never failed to find features of her firstborn Líðea, as if she greeted her from the beyond.

líðe - serene


End file.
